A Dragon Chronicles fanfic without a title
by Dodo DJ
Summary: Myra lives in the seaside town of Tyvonell, Kragrom. All is well until her sister catches the deadly vermilion fever...
1. Myra

  
  
The sunlight was bright, causing Myra to squint a bit as she stated the last few words of the tale she had been telling.  
  
"And so Kara sent the dragons across the sea, to a land of mountains that spew fire which is called Thrym. It is said that they still dwell there even today. But they were not the last of the dragons to live here, as they still had their eggs in our lands, hidden away in caves until they were ready to hatch…but that is another story," she finished, looking out at the crowd of children that had gathered.   
  
"Oh, please tell us that story now!" begged one small boy, named Collan.   
  
Myra smiled. "Not now, but if you want I can tell that story tomorrow…" she began.  
  
"Yes, yes, tell us the story tomorrow!" the children shouted. Myra motioned for them to sit back down and be quiet, though she was smiling.   
  
"I'd be glad to," she said after they were calm. "But you should be going now; it's getting near to noon and your parents will be wanting you at home."  
  
After the crowd had dissipated, Myra turned to head towards her home when she noticed a small shape coming at her through the grass.  
  
"Well, hello!" she said to the small kitten, picking him up and petting him. "Come to hear my story, did you? Well, I'm afraid you're a bit late for that! I'll get you some food, though," she said, setting him down on the ground. He obediently followed as she walked briskly along the cobblestone path towards her house.  
  
A gentle breeze blew Myra's long, red-blonde hair into her face. She pushed it out of the way in annoyance. She wished that her mother would let her have her hair cut shorter, or at least tie it back behind her head, but it was the style for girls Myra's age, around thirteen, to wear their hair long like Myra's.   
  
She often wished that she could have just an average family so she wouldn't have to dress in styles she disliked so much and she wouldn't always have to worry about acting "proper". As it was, her mother would have a fit if she knew that Myra spent so much of her time telling stories to the young children. She would tell Myra that she should be doing something useful for a change.   
  
Myra brushed some dust off of the dark green dress she was wearing. "Useful" for the daughter of the king's second cousin (or some such relation) meant sitting around and doing pretty much nothing at all.   
  
'That's more what Lisie likes,' Myra thought.   
  
Lisie, Myra's older sister, was spoiled rotten. She wouldn't do anything for herself. She was selfish and bossy, and had no imagination whatsoever. She was also extremely pretty, and had a way of getting her many admirers to do just about anything for her. She was more-or-less the exact opposite of her sister.  
  
Lisie seemed to have all of the luck, and Myra had none of it. But that didn't stop Myra from being a bright and cheery person. She was almost always smiling, and was always ready to help someone in need. She didn't have her sister's looks or luck, nor was she by any stretch of the imagination the favorite of their parents, but that didn't matter to her. Usually.   
  
She paused to turn and look back at the children as they ran about, chasing each other and yelling. Some were heading home; others would probably stay and play for a while.   
  
They were safe enough; the small town of Tyvonell was a very safe place, and there were lots of people walking around who would be glad to give a child a hand if he or she needed it.  
  
One young girl caught Myra's eye and waved; Myra waved cheerfully back. It was really a very nice place to live.  
  
She turned back towards her home again and continued walking. The kitten had changed his mind about following her and had run off to play with the children.   
  
After a brief walk, Myra reached her large house. It sat off by itself on the edge of town, instead of with the other houses like Myra would have preferred.  
  
She pulled open the heavy, oak door and stepped in. The house was silent. It seemed eerie after the busy town.  
  
"Myra?" came Lisie's voice from the hall. She hurried out into the entryway, and then stood there, critically observing her younger sister.   
  
Myra knew that she must look horrible compared to her sister. Her dress was as simple as her mother would allow, and was a bit dusty after she had been outside for so long. Her hair had been blown about a bit and was a little bit tangled.  
  
Compared to Lisie, who had perfect, wavy, light blonde hair and delicate facial features, pale skin and light blue eyes and wore a fancy dress that was extremely impractical for doing anything but sitting around and looking nice in, Myra looked quite plain.   
  
Lisie said nothing about it, but shook her head disdainfully.  
  
Myra was surprised that she didn't voice her thoughts, since Lisie was usually a very vocal person. She suddenly noticed that her sister looked paler than usual, and looked quite tired.  
  
"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, concerned. "Mother can send for a doctor..." Lisie shook her head.  
  
"Don't bother; she's already done so. Maybe if you hadn't been out bothering the common people you would have known that," she said, and turned and walked away.  
  
All of Myra's sympathy for Lisie vanished when she heard those words. Fuming, she turned and marched out of the house.  
  
She looked towards the town, but Myra thought about all of those people who would be asking her questions, and turned instead towards the sea.  
  
Her house was only a short walk's distance from the high, rocky cliffs, which dropped steeply to the rough waters below.   
  
A good distance away there was a seaport, where large ships would come and go all day and for much of the night. Myra loved to sit on the edge of the cliffs and watch them as they passed by. She had always wanted to ride on one, but of course her mother wouldn't hear of such a thing.  
  
Myra imagined that her father would let her. Myra would not openly admit it, though it was obvious, but she really liked her father much more than her mother. He was away much of the time recently, though, gone to help the king with matters concerning Elythia.   
  
She wasn't quite sure about exactly what it was that was causing the troubles between Elythia and Kragrom, something to do with disputed territory. But it was all happening far from where Myra lived, and she couldn't bring herself to be terribly interested in it all.  
  
A seagull called overhead, and Myra tilted her head to look. It flew quickly, flapping its wings as hard as it could. She watched as it flew out over the water, and kept watching it until it was no more than a tiny speck to her eyes.  
  
A wave crashed against the rocks below Myra, sending water and foam up at her and making little spots on the front of her dress.   
  
She looked up at the sky and saw that there were storm clouds forming. The wind had picked up, and whipped Myra's hair around.   
  
She stood up, brushed off her dress, and turned to walk to home. As the weather grew worse, she began to run, fearing that her mother would notice that she was gone and worry.  
  
By the time Myra reached her house, the sky was almost black and it was beginning to rain. She entered quietly, hoping that nobody would notice that she had been gone.  
  
She shut the door behind her, and was surprised to hear a man's voice. She didn't recognize it, and suddenly remembered that Lisie had said there would be a doctor coming.  
  
Quietly taking her shoes off and setting them on the rug by the door, Myra slowly walked towards Lisie's room, where the voice was coming from.  
  
She stopped outside the door and listened to what he was saying.   
  
"...The third case I've seen in Tyvonell alone. The last recorded case of the fever was quite a long time ago, and I suspect that it is contagious. You and your other daughter would do best to have as little contact with Lisie as possible..."  
  
Myra frowned. The fever? What was "the fever"?   
  
"Are you sure that it's really...?" It was her mother's voice. It sounded as though she was straining against tears.   
  
"I'm terribly sorry, ma'am," said the doctor, and he truly sounded sorry, "But I am sure. Lisie has vermilion fever."  
  
Myra's breath caught in her throat. Vermilion fever! Perhaps she had misheard him. Lisie could not possibly have the deadly fever. There had not been a case of vermilion fever for around fifty years, and everyone had assumed that nobody would ever catch the dreaded disease again.  
  
But the doctor had said that Lisie was the third case in that town alone. But no, surely not! It just didn't seem possible to Myra. Nobody had ever survived vermilion fever except in the old stories that she liked to tell. And though some said that they were true, Myra had never believed the stories.  
  
  



	2. An Unexpected Visit

The town of Tyvonell had been a lively, cheerful sort of place, full of laughter and never  
boring. People bustled about, some hurrying to wherever they were going, some stopping to take  
in the fresh, sea air, some just standing there watching. Children ran about, playing and   
shouting. Merchants sold their wares, attracting many customers.  
  
That was how it had been, before vermillion fever had struck. Now there were nearly as many   
people with the fever as without, and the streets were all but deserted. A lone figure walked  
slowly down one of the main streets.   
  
Myra paused to look at a spot under a large, old oak tree near the road. There was a nice,   
grassy area underneath it where she had once told stories to some of the younger children in  
Tyvonell. Now not one person sat under the tree.   
  
A strong wind howled through the empty streets. Myra's long hair was pulled back into a bun   
instead of hanging loose like it usually would. Practicality was now more important than looks.   
So she felt the chill on the back of her nech as the wind grew, and then died down. It sounded like  
a child crying mournfully.  
  
"Rather lonely, isn't it?" remarked a female voice from behind Myra. She jumped, having believed  
herself to be the only person out, and turned around to see who it was.  
  
A young woman with long, curling, dark blonde hair stood there. She had bright green eyes,  
brighter than even Myra's. She was very pretty. Not strikingly so, as Myra's sister Lisie was, but  
in a more subtle way. Perhaps the oddest thing about her was that despite the fact that she was  
very elegantly dressed, she wore a falconer's glove upon which was perched a white gyrfalcon.  
  
Realizing that she was staring, Myra reddened with embarrasment and apologized quickly,   
"Oh, beg pardon, ma'am. I didn't expect to see anyone else out here. That is, with the fever   
and all..."   
  
The woman smiled a bit. "No need to apologize. But why are you out here wandering like there   
is nothing that can be done?"   
  
"Nothing that can be done...?" Myra asked, assuming that she meant chores. "You don't   
mean to say that there is something that I can do, surely. I don't see what I could do,   
what with this fever spreading about like wildfire."  
  
"Oh, but it is the fever which I was referring to," the woman said to a rather astonished   
Myra.  
  
  
Myra shook her head slowly."There isn't any way for it to be stopped," she said. "Though   
I wish that there was. But everyone says that it cannot be stopped. And even if it could be,   
what could I do?" She couldn't help but feel especially useless then, as she though of all   
of the people who would soon die, and she could do nothing.  
  
"Actually, you are mistaken," said the woman, and she now looked very serious. "There are only  
a handfull of people in the land who are able to bring the cure to Kragrom. And you are the only   
one who is not ill with the fever. If you wish to stop the vermillion fever, it must be soon. Things  
with Elythia are not going well, and if they see it fit to attack, Kragrom will not be able to fight   
back."  
  
"But...I don't know what the cure is," said Myra. "I couldn't possibly..."  
  
"You know the cure, storyteller," said the woman. "I cannot force you to go to where you would   
find it, nor can I tell you how to get there, but I know that you can do it, Myra."   
  
She turned to walk away. As she turned, Myra noticed a small, oddly-shaped scar on her   
cheek. She saw a small object fall from the woman's pouch, and she bent to pick it up. It was   
a gold coin or token which looked old and probably rather valuable.  
  
"You dropped this..." she began, standing up. The woman had vanished. Myra looked around,   
puzzled. Seeing no trace of the woman, she examined the object more closely.  
  
On one side of it was engraved a picture of an ancient-looking dragon. Even though it   
was only an image, it somehow looked alive, and seemed to stare back at Myra. She quickly   
turned the coin over and looked at the other side. On it was inscribed the word 'Byrn'. Having   
no idea what the word meant, Myra slipped the coin into her own pouch, resolving to return it to  
its owner the next time they met. If they met again.  
  
Feeling chilled by more than just the cold air, Myra began to walk down the path towards   
her house. As she walked, she thought about what the woman had said. She had said that Myra   
knew the cure.   
  
Normally, Myra would dismiss someone who said such a thing as crazy or strange. But there   
was something about her which seemed so...knowing. It was only then that Myra realized that she had   
known her name. And there was something else that she had called her...  
  
"Storyteller," said Myra aloud. Of course vermillion fever could be cured in the stories.  
But that had nothing to do with real life. But she thought again of the woman and the fact that she  
had known Myra's name. And then she thought about the scar on the woman's cheek.  
  
Vermillion fever always left a mark on those who caught it. Even in the stories, when the   
people were sometimes cured, it always left a small scar in the shape of a vermillion flower.   
That had been what the scar on the woman's cheek was, Myra was sure.   
  
She shook her head. "Too much excitement in one day for my taste," she said aloud. But she   
had a strong feeling that from that day on, she was going to be having a lot of exciting days.  
  
When she reached her house, the weather was much nicer than it had been, though it was still   
a small bit windy. She opened the large door, walked inside, and almost bumped into a man who was   
talking to Myra's mother.  
  
He turned and looked at her in suprise, then smiled when he saw who it was. "Papa!" she   
exclaimed.  
  
  



End file.
